


Idiot Wind

by Kharaden



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bad Parenting, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Mystery, Self-Esteem Issues, Should probably add drunk driving heh, Slow Burn, Smoking, Some Big Time Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2020-10-04 08:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20467703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kharaden/pseuds/Kharaden
Summary: Following the murder of her ex-girlfriend, Lapis Lazuli is deemed guilty of the crime through rumour, conjecture, and gossip.An up-and-coming journalist, Peridot arranges an interview with the woman for the local paper, and the situation unravels into a series of events she could never have anticipated.





	1. A Winter Forest

**Author's Note:**

> I'm free-balling this story. Meaning there is no plan, apart from a really rough one somewhere in my mind. I would really appreciate a kudos or any feedback, simply to see if there is any interest in this odd concept. Please enjoy.

As I knocked on the woman’s door, I found myself strangely concerned with the force with which I did so. Strange in the sense that never, in twenty-six years of existence, had I ever been concerned with this action. I was anxious to yell over the blaring music of a club; never could I muster the courage to interrupt an indolent shop attendant on the phone. Although, nor have I ever felt trepidation at the prospect of knocking a door.

While it would be accurate to state that a good reason did exist for this fear, it was still a rather futile fear. You can shake a lion’s cage gently, or with force. The fact you are shaking a lion’s cage remains unchanged.

I decided on an awkward, uneven distribution of force that lowered with each successive knock.

Three in total.

Ten seconds had limped past following my knocking. I counted upwards in my head. The door showed no sign of moving. She probably isn’t in, I thought, although we had agreed to this time some amount of days ago. _‘I don’t leave the house often, if at all,_’ she had said over the phone. Her voice was always so heavy with something negative that I couldn’t place. To state ‘sadness’ would be to demean what must be happening within her head. Some sour and sick cocktail of emotions, with no word capable of presenting justice. It made my chest hurt. I promised her that this interview would help her explain, help them understand.

She _had _to be inside. There was no chance of me knocking again. The initial dose of anxiety had been had been enough.

“What do you do all day?” I had asked hesitantly.

_“Sleep, mostly.”_

She may be asleep, I supposed. She knew it was today, though. Maybe she didn’t remember? Maybe she didn’t even know what time of day it was, or what day of the month. All day indoors, the seconds and minutes must drip like water from a faucet. A mundane rhythm of moments holding little substance. My chest began to hurt again.

The day was nice. Warm, but not too warm, the sun blessing the sky with perfect blue but enough spotless clouds to subdue the blaze. I could walk to the park across the street, where the grass was dry and freshly cut. I could lay back on a bench and listen to the birds converse with their songs and inhale the earthly smell.

Thirty seconds now. A dark blur from behind the door was approaching. She was unlocking the door slowly. She showed the same hesitance as me. Should I feel at ease due to that? I didn’t. My mouth was dry and my throat was as tight as my chest and I kept thinking about that voice.

I straightened the collar of my blouse and smoothed my skirt. I had time to do this as a result of how long had passed following the unlocking of the door. It was as if she was considering re-locking the door and returning to bed. This didn’t help my apprehension.

As the door finally crept open, I met her eyes instantly. I was almost rendered unable to notice anything else. The poorly kept hallway, the lack of any active light bulbs, the ghostly strands of blue in her thick and uncut chestnut locks. I was tethered in her gaze, eyes intense but glazed with a hopelessness, coloured the cynical blue of the ocean before a storm.

“Hey,” she said.

A simple word that was hard to register due to the circumstances. I couldn’t find my words. I was just looking at her face.

“Hello, Miss Lazuli,” I managed. “Nice to finally meet you.”

I extended my hand to her. I was a professional, I needed to act as a professional would, rather than some quivering kid.

She took my hand and gave it a slow shake. Her fingers were long and her hands much slimmer than mine, and the flesh was cool to touch in the heat of the day. It didn’t feel like a killer's hand. She squinted at me, as if she had heard the words in my mind. There wasn’t a shred of trust in her eyes as she sized me up. Although uncomfortable, I understood.

She shook her head as if forgetting herself. She stood back.

“Shit, sorry. Wanna come in?” she asked.

“Of course. Thank you.”

I put my foot through the doorway, and stepping into the house, the dread that hounded me refused to yield. I knew I had to be impartial. I had to be pragmatic. I couldn’t let rumours and local conjecture ruin this opportunity or damage my intentions. But I couldn’t deny that there was some feeling of death in the air, or at least what I assumed was death. How could I possibly know?

“The living room’s the first door on the right. I’ll get some drinks. Tea, coffee?”

I didn’t really feel like tea, but I knew my manners.

“Tea sounds lovely, thank you.”

Lapis nodded and drifted to what much have been the kitchen, leaving me to analyse what I could see of the house. Analyse may sound a very detached word, but I was apprehensive and concerned, and by noting the quirks of the home and the positioning of the furniture, I was better able to adjust my mind to the situation I was presently in.

I’m aware this sounds odd, but then again, I myself am odd.

The walls were pale, a sickly, dull white. There were only a few pictures hung up in the main hallway, yet none of any family or friends. Just paintings of nature. A dense autumn forest of blazing leaves and a meandering stream, wildlife prancing through the foreground. Deer, squirrels, robins on branches. The painting to the right of it was of what seemed to be the same forest, yet swathed in winter. Naked trees and the skeletons of animals entrenched in snow. The sky was layered with grey and the sun absent from sight.

Disregarding the contrast in content, the winter forest looked as if it had painted with fury, rather than care. The colours smashed together and the objects blurred, as if seeing them from the window of a moving car. It made me uneasy. It wasn’t right.

“They’re my paintings,” Lapis said from behind me. I jumped. How long had I been standing here? She had a hot beverage in each hand, my tea, presumably, and what looked to be coffee. The sweet smell reached me from where she stood, relieving me from the stink of smoke that choked the house. For a moment, at least.

“They’re gorgeous,” I said, and I was sincere. They looked exceptional. “Do you paint often?”

“Depends. The one on the left I did a couple of years ago. The one on the right... a couple of months ago, maybe?”

I spared another glance at the winter forest before meeting her eyes.

“I love them,” I said, and I was sincere.

“Thanks,” she said, deadpan. She turned on her heel.

Lapis then led me to the living room. The curtains where open, but the blinds where closed, so the sun struggled to get through. There was one armchair of faded brown leather with an ashtray om the arm and a small blue couch. They were facing one another, although not perfectly parallel, and a glass coffee tablet filled the divide, with empty bottles of beer and vodka. An electronic fireplace was hidden off to the side and a small wooden unit was beside it with a sound system inside and a TV on top of it. 

My initial thought was that this did not seem like a house belonging to the daughter of a millionaire. It seemed like my father’s room on a bad day. Just another puzzling element to this story, but I made sure that my surprise wasn’t evident on may face, although Lapis seemed like a woman who could tell exactly what you were thinking just by standing in your vicinity.

She sat a mug down on the table, on the side of the couch, and gestured for me to sit. I did so with a smile and muttered thanks. She then took a seat on the armchair and took a sip from her mug before placing it down.

“I know, this place is a shithole. I should have warned you not to wear nice clothes,” said Lapis.

I glanced down at my outfit. A white blouse and a red skirt that went down past my knee, and black boots that matched my belt and gave me an inch of height. These clothes weren’t expensive, or fancy. Just presentable. The did however, draw a sharp contrast with the thick crumpled flannel and black sweatpants that Lapis adorned. Her half-dyed hair was tatty and uneven, compared to my thick blonde hair heavy with product and pulled back into a pompadour-esq style.

Mother always told me that a strongly defined appearance commanded respect, and no attitude could ever outclass respect. I found this a hard thing to believe as I looked upon Lapis.

“Oh, it’s no problem. They, ah, were bought on clearance anyway,” I said, then forced a smile. Awkward and unnatural, as always. Thank Christ I’m a better writer than speaker, else all would be lost.

She looked at me for a moment longer than I found comfortable, and not a single muscle on her face gave me any indication of what she was thinking of feeling. She might as well have been made of stone.

My cheeks grew warm, and I didn’t know if it was because of embarrassment or because I couldn’t help but internally comment on how pretty she was as we stared at one another for that brief instance. I was thankful for the low light.

She ducked her gaze and reached onto the table where a pack of cigarettes had been thrown. Producing a lighter from her pocket, she flicked open the carton and drew one out with her teeth, then paused.

“You don’t mind if I smoke, d’you?”

“It’s your home.”

“That’s not an answer.”

I cleared my throat and adjusted my glasses.

“It’s quite alright. Smoke away.”

I detested the things. The smell, the effects, you name it. But empathy overtook my displeasure, as I knew that if anyone could justify becoming a smoker, it was the woman opposite me. She nodded, lit the cigarette, then took a drag. I watched as the smoke curved around the lonely rays of sunlight peering in.

“Let’s get this started,” said Lapis.

Of course. I was easily wrapped up in the intrigue and the anxiety, and had forgotten what I was really here to do.

“Oh, of course.”

I pulled my notepad and a pen from my skirt pocket. I flicked past a multitude of sketches and notes carrying degrees of pointlessness, until I reached a blank page. I adjusted my glasses again before looking up at her.

“I must say before we begin, I greatly appreciate this gesture. I’m going to everything in my power to make sure that the truth of this story is brought to the forefront. A rumour is a dangerous disease,” I said, “The only cure is a commitment to the truth. The only thing I ask of you, aside from your time, is your honesty. ”

Rather proud of my small speech, I smiled at her with energy. Her face remained unchanged. That was something I would have to get used to.

“So, let me start off simple,” I said, “Tell me a little bit about yourself.”

Lapis raised an eyebrow; the most expression as she had provided thus far.

“Seriously?”

I swallowed. “Miss Lazuli-"

“Just Lapis.”

“Ah, of course. Lapis.”

I said her name with caution, making sure it came out perfect. I decided I liked how it came off my tongue.

“Your image, especially in regards to the public, is imperative to this process. How people perceive you, the woman they form in their mind’s eye when they hear your name, is the core of this situation. The rumours conspire against your character. I hope to reverse that damage.”

She continued to stare.

“Those rumours,” she said, “You don’t believe a word of them?”

I would be lying if I claimed I truly knew this woman. The value of her heart, her actions, or her words. I would be foolish to claim that I knew with one-hundred percent certainty that she was guilt free, that the gossip had no place in reality. I would be pretentious ass to claim that I had never, could never, be swayed by gossip. Yet, in my mind, the important thing isn’t to be devoid of doubt, but devoid of certainty, of any kind.

My silence at her question pulled a sardonic smile to her lips.

“So, I’m supposed to be honest with you, but I shouldn’t expect the same in return?”

Cynicism oozed from Lapis Lazuli, and I understood exactly why, meaning I didn’t get overly offended by her accusation. She was right to mistrust. I simply had to make sure that a precedent wasn’t set regarding her mistrusting_ me. _I knew that treading carefully was the key. I had to coax trust from her if I really wanted to help.

“You should. I understand why you don’t trust me, but I truly want to help.”

“So answer my question.”

I paused and raised the mug of tea to my lips as I considered what to say.

“It wouldn’t be sincere to say,” I began as I placed the mug down, “that I know for certain you're innocent. I can’t offer you unconditional belief. But the reason I’m here, above all other reasons, selfish or otherwise, is that I don’t condone trial by public opinion. What people say about you, how trapped you must feel...”

Her face flickered with emotion as I spoke. Her jaw slackened and she swallowed before taking another drag with a shaking hand.

“... It makes me sick. The only thing I’m certain about, is that you deserve better than this, to be treated like a leper in your own town, at the mercy of gossip.”

Lapis lowered her head until her messy fringe dropped over her face. Her body began to shake enough for me to realise that she was beginning to cry. I felt like crying too, thinking about the fact my visit was the first kindness she had been spared in the past 6 months, and yet I was just some stranger.

She was trying to keep her composure, but her sobs were evident in the silence of the room. I reached out for her left hand, as the right still clutched her cigarette as it burned itself out. At first, no reaction, and her hand was limp in mine, as cold and frail as before. She didn't pull away however, so after a gentle squeeze, she wrapped her fingers around my palm.

I produced a handkerchief for her, and we sat together with the silence for 15 minutes or so. Eventually, Lapis began to regain composure. She tugged her hand from mine and wiped at her eyes.

“I’m pathetic,” she said.

“You’re anything but,” I said. “Perhaps before we continue with the interview, you’d like to go for a walk?”


	2. In Terms Of Both Heart And Mind (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the responses on the first chapter everyone. It helps immensely.
> 
> If the ending seems slightly jarring, it's because I'm splitting this chapter in half. It's sprawling out of my control currently. The pacing's fucked. 
> 
> Part two will be VERY dialogue heavy. So there's that. 
> 
> Once again, any feedback in greatly appreciated.
> 
> P.S. I should have mentioned in chapter one, the fic's title is taken from a Bob Dylan song of the same name that loosely inspired this story.

As we drifted down the street together, I was unnerved. Unease gnawed at me.

And that wasn’t because an alleged killer and I were walking side-by-side. It wasn’t because of the general anxiety that had become paradoxically mundane to me, regarding meeting, and socializing with new acquaintances. It wasn’t even because of the fact I was in the presence of beautiful (and single) woman. No thank you; no need for that. Besides, pursuing that course of action seemed like linear path towards an early grave, if the elephant in the room was to be accounted for.

No, my unease was spawned from both confusion, and lack of knowledge. Lapis was conflicting, in terms of both heart and mind. I couldn’t understand what to make of her. Journalistic tendencies had bestowed me a capacity for judging character, even in the greyest of areas. She is an exception. I know _that_ for certain, at the very least. But that isn’t awfully satisfying, is it?

Before we had left for our walk (the one that I foolishly suggested, mind you, so I have no right to complain) the weather took a sudden jolt for the worse, with the bipolar disposition of a sleepy costal town. The sky turned an ill grey, and the wind had burst into a frenzy. Lapis observed this. She then asked me, with alarming concern, if I had brought a jacket. I hadn’t, and I told her so. I hadn’t anticipated she would then fumble through closet until she produced a black peacoat worth my yearly salary.

“This seems your style. Matches your outfit, too.”

I agreed, but could feel my skin heat up, and could only mutter a thank you. She pulled a brown borg jacket over her own frame and tugged open the door. _After you_, her look said.

So, there we walked. The primed and proper, fresh-faced journalist with the multi-hundred dollar peacoat reaching her knees, and the scruffy supposed murderer with the fading blue hair, red flannel, black sweatpants, and faux shearling borg jacket. We flirted using the rhythm of our feet against the pavement.

“You haven’t asked where we’re going,” said Lapis.

“Well, I only suggested a walk, not really to anywhere in particular. For your benefit. Not that I’m not enjoying your company, of course!” I said, glancing up at her. She met my eyes for a moment, sparing me a weak smile. It seemed as if weakly was the only way she could smile. Her eyes, still with a slight glaze of red, retained the hollowness that came with isolation and unhappiness. A smile was nothing more than a formality, a contraction of muscles.

I hate what the wind does to my hair, tossing in back and forth. I would helplessly comb it back into place with my hands. It was like melting a glacier with a hairdryer. I hated looking unkempt. My appearance had to be perfectly measured and up to code. My mother was forever adamant about the importance of physical beauty, so my appearance had become a fixation of mine.

Lapis was undeniably attractive, despite how ragged and tired she seemed. She was a natural beauty. She carried some aura that bypassed any superficial display of fashion or style. She was her own style, and I could taste the envy on my tongue.

I decided some conversation would distract me from my thoughts.

“So, then. I’ll bite. Where are we heading to?” I asked.

As we walked along, I noticed some strange behaviour on behalf of the few other people was passed on the street. One middle-aged woman in a heavy wool coat eyed the pair of us with distinct fear, pulling her young daughter to her right side, placing herself as a barrier between us and the kid.

A heavy man with a bald head and greying stubble spat on the ground in front of us, glaring like a devil all the while.

A few people eyed us from a distance, then crossed the street.

It didn’t take me long to realise the reason for all of this.

“You can feel it, can’t you? It’s almost as if the air is poisonous,” said Lapis. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “These people… They’re like weasels. Or mosquitos. They despise me for something that not a single fucking one of them can prove I did. Scampering around, repeating one another. Inane theories, at times. Sometimes just whatever vile idiocy can pass the boredom.

“The amount of people than can even bare to look at me? I can count them on one hand. And even with them, you can just tell, they doubt themselves. _You_ will doubt yourself.”

“It’s my job to doubt. I’ve told you- that’s why I’m here,” I replied carefully.

Lapis tensed her upper lip, like a guard dog ready to snarl, before she caught herself and relaxed. She looked apologetic, although the last thing I wanted was to make her feel guilty.

“Yes. I know… I’m sorry.” She pulled the familiar carton of cigarettes from her pocket. The box was near empty. Jamming it between her teeth, she quickly lit it. “Anyway, two of those few people who have stuck by me, they own a café by the boardwalk. A place I can relax that isn’t my house.”

“Would I know it?” I asked. Tourism was the lifeblood of this town, and the lifeblood of tourism? Cafes. They are a universal language, where any pale shuffling hipster or rod-stiff businessman from Europe or Asia could relax for an hour and pump money into the local economy through overpriced cappuccinos and freshly unpackaged brownies. This is the generation of the caffeine fiends, and I’m ashamedly one of them. Columns practically type themselves within the booth of an indie café. 

“It’s called The Kindergarten. Sorta dimly lit, rustic looking place?”

“I know _of_ it, but I’ve never been inside. The name gave me a day-care impression. Young moms tossing their kid into a play area so they can drink coffee and gossip in relative peace,” I said, with a pang of instant regret. Perhaps a little disrespectful to her friends. _You goddamn tool, Peridot._

But she laughed. Well, she didn’t laugh. She snorted. I couldn’t help but mark it internally as extremely cute.

“I told her the same thing, basically. Had the interiors done like speakeasy, and gave it some stupid quirky name. ‘It’s edgy,’ she told me. As if the vagrant youth of Beach City would flock to it.”

“I guess it is. Kinda?” I said. There was some other itch at in my brain though. This Kindergarten place was ringing some other bell. Then it clicked, the name burst into view. “Oh, hell. Is this Amatista Acosta you’re talking about? One of your friends, the co-owner?”

She eyed me, incredulous, exhaling a lungful of smoke. “You know Amethyst?”

“Well, just like the café, I know _of_ her. Her girlfriend, well, one of them, Pearl, works at the paper with me. She was very insistent that she got this story, too. I won out, though.”

This may all seem like small talk, but my mind was forming some exaggerated evidence board from all these minute details. Pearl viciously fighting for the chance at this story was a curiosity at first, but I chalked it up to her own sense of justice. We had discussed the matter of Lapis Lazuli multiple times, and she made her opinion on the matter very clear. It wouldn’t surprise me either. My co-worker and I had quite the rivalry, but it was in good nature, and competition serves a writer well. I had no doubt that Pearl was an admirable woman.

However, this situation vibrated with a slight secrecy. Now, one of Pearl’s partners is a close friend of Lapis’. Did this Amethyst woman push Pearl to take the story, or was it Pearl who fought for a chance to please her girlfriend? I couldn’t say, for the time being.

Lapis shrugged. “Small town,” she said, but I could tell that there was more on her mind. We had arrived at The Kindergarten, however. The sign seemed to be homemade- a rusted rectangular steel plate (probably plucked from a junkyard) with ‘The Kindergarten’ painted upon it in a rough but aesthetically pleasing block font. Lapis flicked her cigarette onto the pavement and ground it with her foot before pulling open the café door.

“After you,” she said, meeting my eyes. I smiled nervously and slipped past her.

“Thank you.”

The rich aroma wrapped around me like a gust of heat. The scent, a concoction of coffee, tea, and pastries filled my throat and made my mouth water. I could hear the faint flowing of some indie neo-folk song from the cheap speakers. Planks of dark wood lined the floors and the ceiling, low barroom lights cast a dark orange glow across the booths of tattered leather, each chair and table constructed of differing patterns and materials. I had begun to believe my theory that the junkyard had been raided to design the interior. All the furniture and decorations were radically different, and gave the place a homespun atmosphere.

The most eye catching aspects of the building where the paintings lining the walls. Nearly all featured the same woman- a toned Latino girl with rolling lilac hair. Some fluid, swerving abstract pieces. Some gorgeous realistic portraits. 

Very few other people inhabited the tables, half a dozen, maximum. I recognised a few of them. Mostly younger folk. I couldn’t see any staff, not even behind the counter.

“Just grab a seat wherever you want. Amethyst’ll get to us eventually. Safe to assume she’s out back for a smoke break.”

“Is she the only one on shift?” I asked as I walked to a two-way booth by the window. I slid into the seat after removing my- Lapis’- coat and lay it neatly over my lap. Lapis fell into the chair opposite me.

“Yeah, I think so. This place is pretty dead during the day. It’s only the two of them, but they’re only ever both here during summer or on night.”

“So, it’s busier at night? When do they close shop?” I asked.

“Hell, it depends.” She gestured to the counter, specifically at a multi-coloured array of liquors mounted on the wall that drove my eyebrow upwards. “It doubles as a bar after 5pm. That’s when the people start swarming. Too grungy for a populist café, but it works well as a watering hole for a _shitty_ town like this.”

Her last sentence was spoken with a venom that almost knocked me back, although I was getting used to the hatred that dripped into her tone often.

I was intending to change the subject before we were interrupted.

“Hey there. What- oh, shit, Lapis!” said the waitress/owner/bartender, who must have been Amethyst. The paintings had captured her incredibly well. Her plump lips formed a charming smile. “You actually left your house!”

“Harr harr.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were stopping by? I coulda arranged a parasol or something so you didn’t burn up in the sun.”

She kept smiling as she spoke, and there was levity in her voice, but I found her remarks in rather bad taste. Not my place to comment, though. Lapis just rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Be glad I come here for the coffee rather than the customer service.”

“Aw, none of that, Lappy.”

The woman then turned her head to me as if I had appeared from thin air. She scanned my face with a rather cold scrutiny compared to the warmth with which she conversed with Lapis. Ironically, she eyed me as if I were a criminal.

“So,” she said slowly, eyes unmoving, “Who’s your new chick?”

Lapis sucked her teeth and shook her head.

“She isn’t ‘my chick’, Amy. She’s a journalist, from the same paper as Pearl. She’s supposed to be interviewing me for the… y’know, the story.”

Amethyst’s expression slacked, her stonewall look replaced with a casual grin. I couldn’t tell if it was at the mention of her partner, or if Lapis’ explanation was regarded as sufficient validation for my intentions.

“Oh yeah. Man, the amount of shit I had to listen to after Pearl lost out on that chance. Holy Hell.” She laughed. “I could tell she liked you though. If she didn’t, well, her mood woulda been even worse.”

I didn’t really know what to add. I was confused, to say the least. I couldn’t think of a more incongruous match for the prissy woman that was Pearl Blanche. Then again, my understanding of romantic relationships is akin to my understanding of Latin, or the genetic makeup of squids.

“I, uh, sorry about that. If it’s any consolation, I like her very much as well. She’s one of the few people I could confidently call a friend. Nice to finally meet you, by the way!” I said in a flurry. I extended my hand to her. “I’m Peridot Healy.”

She shook my hand. “Amethyst.” Glancing away, she seemed suddenly flustered. “So… Pearl talks about me often?”

“Never mind that,” snapped Lapis. “Could you take our order? Or are you too lazy to even pretend to be professional anymore?”

“All right, Jesus. Just a black coffee, as usual?” Of course Lapis takes her coffee straight.

“Yeah. And one of those brownies.”

“And for you, Peri?”

“Just the same, without the brownie, please.”

“Gotcha,” she said with a smile and a wink before strutting off to the coffee machine.

“I pegged you as the triple, venti, soy, iced frapped with whipped cream type.”

I pulled a strained smile. “Too many calories.”

She snorted. “Yeah, okay, and how much do you weigh? I doubt you have much to worry about.”

“Has no one ever told you that’s an inappropriate line of questioning regarding a woman?”

“Oh, my bad. Let’s get back to the details of my murdered girlfriend and my supposed involvement in her death. Is that better?”


	3. In Terms Of Both Heart And Mind (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Directly picking up from last chapter. 
> 
> Next one should hopefully be a lot longer.

I could feel the air escape my throat, like I’d been sucked into space. The café, with its disembodied idle chatter and hipster music, had become a vacuum. I tried to read her face, but it was more guarded than usual. She was pulse-less. No anger, no mirth.

“Touche,” I muttered, from a lack of anything else to defuse the tension. Be direct, I thought. Get the nastiness underway and we can kill it off all the sooner.

“I suppose it would be best, then,” I began as I once again produced my pen and notepad, “to rip the proverbial band-aid off. As I mentioned, some details of your life before… all this ugliness, will be imperative.”

“All right.”

Just as she spoke, Amethyst returned with the fresh americanos and the brownie, a marvellous warm scent coming from each item. She placed the tray on the table slowly, seemingly sensing the underlining tension.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Thanks,” said Lapis.

“Anything else for you girls?” Amethyst asked.

“I’m quite alright,” I said and Lapis just shook her head. Amethyst just smiled a little, before giving me an odd look and walking off. As if carried by the same current, we brought the mugs to our lips a synchronised motion. A small taste each. Lapis bit into her brownie as I picked up my pen and flipped to my marked page where I had jotted some questions. “Whenever you’re ready.”

She swallowed. “I’m ready.”

“Okay, beginning easy. How long have you lived here in Beach City?”

She exhaled slowly. “Not long. 2 and half years, roughly?”

“Where are you from originally?”

“Ocean Town. You ever been?”

I shook my head. “Can't say I have.”

“Consider yourself fortunate. A city so crooked your steering pulls to the right. There’s never any question of legality, on any matter. You certainly wouldn’t fit in with all this ‘justice’ talk. Every journalist, just like every cop, every politician, is on the payroll of some big business drug peddler.”

Clearing my throat, I didn’t write any of this down. None of this would help Lapis’ case. For a very crucial reason, might I add.

“Your mother is Mazarine Blair, correct? The ‘Blue Diamond’ of the Diamond Corp.?”

“Yep. One twisted face of the three-headed beast. She manages the city’s water distribution. Ocean Town is ironically one of the few areas in this great union of ours whose water is still entirely privatised. With the little regulation the Diamond Corp. is subjected to, you just can’t name a crueller way of controlling the public.”

I could feel the anxiety tightening my chest. Should I tell her?

No, better not to.

“Well, is it safe to assume your dislike for your mother’s company is one of the reasons you left the city?” I asked.

“You could say that.” She sighed before taking another drink of her coffee. “God, I wish you could still smoke in these places. Like in the movies.”

She seemed conflicted, so I gave her all the time she needed.

“My mother, I knew from a young age she was capable of some awful things. Younger than you’d think. She perpetuates the sickness that ruined the city, and though she isn’t the only one, she is just as guilty as those other monsters.

“Worst of all though, was the fact she was a good mother. Attentive, supportive. I never wanted for anything. I would ramble day in, day out, about how much I loved to paint. How someday, I’d be even more famous, even richer than her. How the world would never forget me or my art. There’d be no-one like me. How I’d be able to make some beautiful portrait of us both when I got older so we’d be around forever.

“So she had an insane studio installed and all the materials I could use always stocked. She even hired an art teacher from out of town to instruct me. That’s how I met Vidalia, the other owner of this place,” she gestured toward the decorated walls. “She had me put through an Art degree in the state’s best college when I was old enough to enrol.

“As I said, I knew what she was, even as a kid. All the stories of dirty dealings, drugs, murder, you name it. Somehow though, I just buried it in my subconscious. It never bothered me, because _I_ had the potential to be happy. At some point, the cracks started to show. I got older. I matured. The reality of everything happening in that goddamned city, and my own mother’s part in it, started to pull me apart.

“I would curse her, damn her to Hell. I would hate her with a passion I never knew I had. But then I’d get through the front door, and I’d see those beautiful eyes and that motherly smile, and I’d hate myself for ever thinking those things and feeling those things about this woman who had only ever given me everything I wanted. I really don’t think a human heart has the ability to rationalise a situation like that. You just accept the greyness.”

“But that’s no way to live,” I added. I tried to keep quiet for her sake, though I wanted to run right out the door. It was as if all these words had been crammed into some heavy bullet and fired right through me. She would have no idea of this, however. How could she?

She seemed slightly shocked, likely due to the emotion in my voice, but her face softened. I’m sure she could tell my reaction was genuine, and I’m sure it helped.

“I agree,” she said softly.

I took a few more sips of the mug and tried to calm myself. I could almost understand that raw desire for a cigarette that Lapis had mentioned. Almost.

“So,” I asked, trying to haul the ‘interview’ back onto the rails, “When did it all turn around? Why did you decide to get out?”

She glanced out the window. Most would have followed her gaze either out of curiosity, or instinct. I managed to resist both, however. I stared at the profile of her face, wrapped up in the low light like some sort of solar spirit. The sky could be collapsing outside and it wouldn’t be enough to draw my eyes out the window.

She smiled slightly, eyes deep in remembrance.

“That would have been Jasper.”

“If you don’t want to continue- “

“You would have to ask eventually, no? Better to get it out of the way.” She paused. “When the guilt became too much to handle, I clawed around for any way to ease my mind. I went off the rails. Hard. I was hitting every dive bar in town, every night. I was twisted up on drugs and drink twenty-four-seven, which inevitably resulted in waking up in a different woman’s bed every morning.

“No real relationships to talk about, to be honest. Connecting to someone like that, emotionally, is close to impossible when your mental state is so badly fucked you don’t know which way is up. Unless, of course, you manage to find someone else who’s fallen over the same edge as you. That’s where Jasper came in.”

Lapis turned back around, finishing her coffee in a few gulps, sighing in slight appreciation.

“It’s good coffee,” I said.

“It is. Anyway, when two people on that equal wavelength of hopelessness meet, it hits you like a shot of adrenaline. It helps, at first, ‘cause it isn’t just you versus the world anymore. You have someone to share the anger with. We connected in a way that spawned some strange idealism. _If we can just get away_, we would say to ourselves.

“Jasper lost her mother when she was a kid, and her dad was some Jesus freak who kicked the shit out of her when he found another girl sneaking out of her window. If I was unhappy, Jasper was hateful. She was cruel, but she had good reason for that, I would say to myself. She was never cruel to me, and at the time that was all that mattered. 

“So, we eloped. I stole as much cash from mom as I could, and Jasper broke into her dad’s house, beat him half to death, and then took all the money and valuables he owned. Half an hour later, we were on the first train out.

“God,” she said with a slight laugh and a sniff. “We had a chance to reinvent ourselves. Build a whole new fucking world from scratch, for just the two of us. That hope… despite how badly we ruined ourselves… I can still feel it in my chest.”

I could tell that she was close to breaking down. It was hard enough to listen to, so I couldn’t imagine reliving it.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean to push this hard on day one…”

“Don’t worry, Peridot,” she said sadly. “Better than paying a therapist for all this shit.”

I laughed. Dark humour, but humour nonetheless, and I was glad to see her recovering from her temporary stasis.

“You’ve done it now. I’ll be charging hourly next time.”

She smiled and rose slowly from the booth.

“Shall we go then?”

I nodded and got up with her. As we left, Lapis shouted a lazy goodbye, prompting Amethyst to burst up from behind the counter.

“Hey! Wait a moment!” the woman shouted, hopping over the counter, and approaching us. “Hey, you think I could talk to Peri here for a moment? Just about Pearl?”

Lapis eyed her for a moment, and I didn’t know what to think. What would she have to ask me about? Why would she be implying that Lapis leave us alone to have such a discussion?

Lapis seemed rather confused also, but apathy seemed to win out.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll be waiting outside. Don’t take long,” she said over her shoulder as she turned to leave.

“See ya later, chick!” Amethyst said with a smile as she watched Lapis leave. As soon as she had pushed through the door. At that point, her smile dropped, and that ominous visual tone returned to her face.

“Listen Peridot. I’m only gonna tell you once. If you’re doing this for her sake, or for the sake of doing what’s right, then you’re gonna land yourself in my good books no sweat.”

“Alright…”

“Now, I don’t know how much that means to you, but I don’t care either. All you need to remember, all you need to understand, is that if you’re some scumbag journalist looking to pull one over on her, or manipulate her, or play with her emotions in any way… well, let’s just say the paper won’t even be allowed to publish a story on what I do to you.”

I’m not a confrontational person by any means, but neither would I call myself easily intimidated. There was a burning in this woman’s eyes however, that had me frozen for a moment. It didn’t seem like some hasty threat or foolish bluff. It was a promise, and I had no intention of pushing my luck.

“I read you,” I said with a painfully awkward smile.

“Good!” she said, the easy-going grin returning. “Hope you drop by again!”

_Yeah_, I thought, _don’t hold your breath_.

“Ready to go?” Lapis asked when I emerged from the café…

…paler than usual, I’m sure.


	4. Doomed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. It's been over a month, and I apologise. I have every intention of finishing this story but university is kicking my ass so finding time to get it flowing is tuff. 
> 
> That said, I have a pretty clear idea for next chapter so I'll begin it shortly. 
> 
> As ever, feedback is appreciated, especially for this chapter. I feel as if it's a little confusing? Not really for me but I'm not sure how well I put my intentions across. 
> 
> Much love!

It was still early in the afternoon, perhaps only two o’clock, when I returned to headquarters from the cafe.

The Emerald was the sole newspaper of Beach City. The reasoning for this was as simple as it was unquestioned. Aside from the remarkably small size of the town, most citizens were devoid of any journalistic flair, and many of the few that possessed some small capacity for writing had no interest in pursuing such a career path. The profession couldn’t boast of much prestige or pay, so only the most idealistic or the most malicious even tried.

I would have to be against a wall with a gun aimed in my direction to state I was 'proud' of the paper. The stories were ninety percent fluff, each tooth painstakingly removed to ensure no true lasting impact could be made. Sweet enough to keep the interest of tourists over coffee, or your everyday townsperson whose last concern is an article that causes any true challenge of thought.

I often brooded upon the slow and undignified death of journalism, with my only consolation being that my stories made some contribution to the well-being of the practice. I tried to be somewhat controversial, employing blunt honesty and little sensationalism, in the hopes of stirring something within the people of this town. Even if it was mild, short-lived anger, was better than another story of a kitten saved from a tree or a statement from the mayor that unemployment was (disputably) at an 'all time low.’

I would often receive outraged letters or sneers on the street for that story or this comment. It never bothered me. Opening a discussion gave me some degree of satisfaction, no matter how menial.

Pearl White was also weighed down by some degree of integrity, although it shone through her stories in a much subtler manner. Almost subliminal comments that got people to think more than they realized they were thinking. She would be clever where I would be bold.

I pushed open the front doors, plunged into the choking heat of the place. Push the thermostat to its worldly limits, of course. After all, there had been a greater than 5-degree temperature drop.

“Jesus,” I said. “Have you checked your pulse today?” I could already feel the patches of sweat on my back. I stripped the peacoat from my frame. Lapis’ coat. I draped it over my forearm and held it close despite the heat. It reeked of smoke.

“I can’t concentrate in the cold,” Pearl replied. She was to the left side of the office tinkering with the coffee machine. I had dedicated an obituary to the poor damn thing in May but she hasn’t ceased trying to resurrect it. Perhaps she’s waiting for that dreary night of November.

“You aren’t half the engineer you think you are.”

Pearl rolled her eyes. “A sentiment I’ll remember next time that horrid death-trap you call a moped breaks down.”

I grinned. “Emerald would have already bought a replacement if you hadn’t assured her you’d fix this thing.”

She let out a sardonic laugh, still staring into the circuitry of the machine. “With the money this paper makes? Please.”

A ‘funny because it’s true’ type of statement. I don’t know how much the paper pulled in, but I was all too aware of the bad joke that is my salary. If it weren’t for the savings account I opened after leaving home, my life would be burdened with that dire sickness that comes from worrying whether you’d have food on the table each week. Pearl had people to rely on, but that’s a two-way, or in her case, three-way situation. I had someone relying on me also, yet that was less of a two-way street, or even a one-way street. More akin to some deep and dank well that’s clogged with mold where you pour buckets of money down like water.

“So, where’ve the troops been deployed today?” I asked glancing around the office. Clusters of desks cluttered with pools of printed re-writes and monitors wearing sticky notes like leprosy. Quiet and somber as a graveyard without a living soul other than Pearl and I.

“Miss Emerald has a meeting with Mayor Dewey, presumably to finalize this arrangement between the paper and the council.”

“Damn. I was hoping it would fall through, to be honest.” Last thing the paper needed was a ritualistic financial debt towards The Powers That Be. The irony of integrity is despite its value, it can be bought out for very little.

“I’m dreading it too, although I am rather impressed with her ability to charm him. I didn’t expect her to have the potential,” Pearl said.

“A watery pushover like Dewey? He’s probably into the whole abrasive business woman shtick.”

“Oh god,” she said with a grimace. “That’s the last thing I needed to hear.”

I chuckled in my cartoonish sinister way.

“Jamie is at home preparing for the play,” she continued, “Yet I don’t see how impartiality is expected when he’s reviewing his own screenplay.”

“No one else would have wanted to sit through it.”

Her finger attempted another arrangement of wires within the machine as she met my eyes. “I would have. I’ll have you know-”

“Yes, yes, you have a background in theatre. Exactly why you would have been overly petty and harsh. The poor guy’s trying to create art. He’s experimenting. Mutilating his ego with a wasted English Literature degree wouldn’t do much good.”

Pearl went silent as her upper lip tensed.  
“He’s awful,” she concluded quietly.

“Enough of that. Where’s Aqua?” I asked. With any luck, some ravenous tide had invaded the waterfront and dragged her into the ocean, or a particularly righteous flock of seagulls tore her from the ground and into the sky.

As if she had tasted something sour, her face was taught with that indignance that came with the mere mention of the cretin we called our ‘editor’.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, c’mon. You’re telling me the official gossip doesn’t know what the official snake is up to?”

She slams the side panel of the machine closed and crosses her arms. “I enquired, of course. I made an effort, as always, but she remains unbearable. The snide tone, the passive aggression, and the juvenile remarks. Frighteningly similar to you when you’re drunk.”

“More an insult to me as it is to her.”

I grinned as she gave up on the coffee machine. Maybe someday, I thought. At least the water cooler still works, by some mystic grace. After filling two cups with the cold water I sauntered to the desk where Pearl now sat. I still felt the weight of the coat over the crook of my elbow, so I threw it over the back of my chair after handing Pearl her cup.

“You smell like cigarettes,” she said with a suspicious glance.

“I wasn’t smoking. It’s mainly the coat.” I took a sip of the water. My skin was rippling with heat.

“The coat doesn’t belong to you.”

“Well observed.”

I rested the wretched polystyrene cup on my lips, constantly sipping. This was an accessible alternative to flexing my poker face. Such a thing was far from one of my strengths. Although soon the cup was empty and I had to place it down and meet Pearl’s pale eyes. 

Pearl sighed. “Are you truly going to make me ask?”

“That’s your job, isn’t it?”

She _tsked_ like my mother did and then shook her head. There was really no reason for me to be obtuse, but I often found myself unexplainably pervasive over various matters in my life. This story was simply an extension of that odd list. The loaned coat was but embarrassing icing.

“You met with Lapis Lazuli today?” She wanted it to sound like a declarative statement but lost her nerve halfway through.

“I did.”

“And?”

“And what? I’m not a bloody mind-reader.”

“How did it go?”

I was familiar with the question, as I had been turning it over in my mind for the past hour. I was yet to produce a condensed answer that didn’t seem overtly vague.

“I believe it went well. It was a good start.”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on. Since when did we lose our professional trust?”

“Oh God. What a guilt trip.”

I pulled out notepad and gave her a brief run through of the questions I presented and weakly condensed versions of her answers. I made some exemptions, of course. There were some things I didn’t want to get into. If Pearl noticed, she made no comment which I appreciated. I couldn’t help but notice the subconscious smile she wore when I mentioned Amethyst, and I wondered what must happen to a human brain for such a reaction to occur at simply hearing the name of a romantic partner. Complete facial vulnerability.

“I’m impressed,” said Pearl once I had finished. “She’s an enigma. Usually she dramatizes her whole mysterious aura and doesn’t give even the slightest thing away. A very jaded woman.”

I found that I was growing tired of everyone telling me exactly who and what Lapis was.

“I’m surprised she opened up as much as she did. With a stranger nonetheless,” Pearl concluded.

“I must have asked all the right questions,” I said, not wanting to seek further implications.

I pretended to review the sprawling jungle of cursive that were my notes, as I knew Pearl was staring at me, eyes probing and expectant.

“That doesn’t answer the golden question however,” she said.“

"Don’t keep me in suspense,” I muttered. 

I looked up at her to see her leaning over the desk. Her chin was resting on her joined hands and her lips formed a rigid line.

“Why do you have her coat?”

“How the hell do you consider that the golden question in this situation?”

“Won’t you just give me an answer?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because it’s plain to see you care. You know as well as I do, Peridot, that what a person doesn’t say is endlessly more interesting than what they do. Tends to be more important, too. You have yet to address why you are carrying around a stranger’s coat.”

The heat in this place is unholy. It’s as if I’m trapped in a boiler room.

“I’m not even going to humor you here. You’re being ridiculous,” I said.

“Then it’s confirmed. Lazuli has eliminated your objectivity with the bribe of a designer coat.”

“The weather took a turn for the worst and I had no jacket, so she loaned me this fucking thing,” I said throwing the coat across the desk and in her direction. “I forgot I was even wearing it, and so did she, or maybe she was too polite to say, so I walked here wearing it.”

Not strictly the truth, I thought as the events crossed my mind.

_“I’ll be in touch,” I said to Lapis as we reached her front door. “Or, if it’s preferable you can call me. To, y'know, arrange the next interview.” _

_“Sure,” she said, pulling out her keys. “See ya later, Peridot.” _

_“Oh, wait,” I said suddenly, and began unzipping the coat. _  
_She turned her head and met my eyes, considering something briefly. _

_“Keep it,” she said. “I honestly never wear the thing. Plus, it looks good on you.”_

Pearl wouldn’t break eye contact and her face was held by an odd swirl of concern and accusations. I don’t know if she believed me or not. After a few moments she seemed more like herself.

“What’s your opinion on her? Honest opinion,” she asked.

I was uneasy about the rapid jettison from the subject of the coat. I felt as if I was being conned.

“You dismissed her as jaded. She was like… I don’t know. She fled from her past, but it follows her like a curse, and her present day-to-day has become living Hell. I get the impression she feels doomed. Although I don’t think she’s hopeless. If she was, she would never agreed to this story.”

“And do you think she’s guilty?”

“I don’t know. I need to talk with her more. We didn’t get through as many questions as I would have liked, but once she started speaking I got the figured stopping her would have been cruel. She needed to speak, I just happened to be the one to listen.”

With a thoughtful look, Pearl cast her eyes to the ground where the coat had fallen. She lifted it gently and stroked it like a cat.

“It’s a lovely item of clothing. Best make sure you return it to her.”

“What exactly is your problem, Pearl?” I asked.

She sighed and retained that pitiful look in her eye. Rising from her chair she leaned over the desk and handed me the coat.

“I just want you to be careful.”

I felt oddly touched by her sincere tone, or at least knew that I was supposed to be. I knew the implication of her questioning and I didn’t want to engage any further. I decided to take the offensive and put an end to my interrogation.

“While I appreciate the concern, we were speaking of professional trust, I think you can assist me with this story.”

“Oh?” she said with a grin. It was nice to feel some tension leave the air.

“You see, you had been rather adamant about receiving this story, which I initially chalked up some moral obligation you felt, but evidently you have some history with Miss Lazuli…”

Her pale cheeks flushed as she realized the lack of her usual discretion.

“…and it seems the same can be said for Amethyst, who was… rather protective of Lapis, to say the least.”

Pearl rubbed her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. “She didn’t threaten you, did she?”

“She may have done. Besides the point though. I want to include you and her as part of the story. I want to interview you.”

“What?”

“You can vouch for her character. You’re well respected in the town because of the paper, and The Kindergarten seemed like a popular joint. Your input could prove invaluable. Ideally I speak with Garnet too. Having the Chief of Police explain in layman’s terms why exactly she was proven innocent is going to be the key to changing people’s minds.”

“I’m not sure. Remember than one of the key reasons for all the suspicion regarding Lazuli was her mother’s supposed involvement in her release.”

I tore off my glasses and placed them on the table so I could rub my eyes in free frustration. With the picture Lapis painted of her mother, it was clear why she would pay her daughter’s bail after she had initially been arrested on suspicion of murder. However, the kind gesture paved the way for a slew of theories regarding the integrity of the Beach City Police Department. Most everyone knew of the drastic corruption of Ocean Town. The Diamond reach controlled every aspect of civil service through bribes and intimidation, so I must admit that Blue Diamond pulling strings behind the curtains to set Lapis free wasn’t exactly illogical. It didn’t make her guilty however.

“It’s still worth a shot. What about you? Will you do it?"

Pearl’s eyes went beyond me as she shifted in her seat.

“You’re correct that we’re acquainted, but the details aren’t for me to divulge, sorry. That story is between Amy and Lapis. You could ask Amy, but I’m not sure she’ll be wiling to give an honest answer.”

I was too tired to press for a less vague explanation so I just rolled my eyes and sighed in exaggerated exasperation.

“It’s never easy where Lazuli is involved, is it?”

She smiled at me.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Pearl and I spoke of some unrelated nonsense for a few hours before I realized the boss didn’t intend on dropping in before we shut the lights. I gave Pearl my goodbyes and promised to keep her posted on any developments.

The weather had calmed with the coming of late evening. The blue sky had begun to burn into faint red as the dark clouds lined the horizon like volcanic ash. I was wearing Lapis’ coat again as I walked facing the wind, appreciating the natural feeling of my hair flickering in the breeze at the end of an overly complicated day. 

After my usual twenty minute walk, I found myself upon my street. I eyed my flat in the distance, just as I had seen it hundreds of days before, until I noticed something that was certainly out of place. It seemed my door was covered in strange scratches, like a prison wall, and I adjusted my glasses as I neared. Carved into the door like the mad hieroglyphs of a lunatic were six crude words.

_LEEVE HER BE OR YOUR DOOMED_


	5. Little Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while (sorry). This chapter got awfully sappy, but not too sappy, I hope. Thanks for reading!

It was after the third glass of whiskey I dared to stop measuring the shots. Just a few cubes of ice, then I would eyeball the pour until the amber dram appeared adequate. It was after my fifth glass of whiskey that I ventured to think about the situation. The light was low in my study. I had the heat turned up. Heavy headed though I was, the best of the fear had left me. It was a fear hangover now.

I could still feel scarred wood of my front door on my fingertips. The groves had been harsh and deep. The purpose of the liquor was to loosen the taught lines of my thoughts, but that inscription was frozen in memory. I took a slip from the glass.

What kind of freak could have done such a thing? Standing in the broad daylight of a populated neighbourhood, scrawling that abomination.

‘LEVE HER BE OR YOUR DOOMED.’

The spelling frightened me most.

My vocation has earned me a fair few objectors, but no enemies. No-one with such hatred toward me to take such action. However, that was up to this point in my career. There was no doubt what, or more accurately who, had caused this. The mentioned 'HER'. Any other explanation seemed too laughable to consider. It gave me a drowning feeling, as if I had plunged into some dark pool in pitiful arrogance. Or was it ignorance? I needed another drink.

I swallowed the rest of my whiskey. I grimaced. Glancing to the twelve-year-old bottle of Chevas Regal, I sighed. Bloody empty. I rose from my swivel chair using my arms rather than my legs, as they are often rubbery and unreliable when I’m a bottle down. I stumbled over to the drinks cabinet, only to find my secondary bottle missing. Goddammit. I clenched my firsts. Anger began to warm my blood and I welcomed the certain solidity of the emotion in place of the hazy, fearful confusion that had bogged me down for the most part of the day, especially since arriving home. Pushing open my study door, I stepped into the hallway. I stopped and listened carefully to the wavering of the steel guitar coming from the back room.

_I’m a rolling stone… All alone and lost…_

There it was. Hank Williams moaning through the speakers and an empty drinks cabinet. Bad business, but business as usual. I strode down the empty hallway with the empty bottle in my hand. I clutched it like a weapon. As I moved closer the song got louder and I began to make out the pathetic howling that accompanied the vocals. He had always been a terrible singer. Thankfully, he only sang when drunk. Unthankfully, he was always drunk.

_…that lost highway… _

I reached the back room and threw the door open with contempt. He lay on the scuffed couch at the corner of the room because he didn’t own a bed. Beer cans littered the floor and the only lamp he owned cast their shadows across the floor like the silhouette of a city. His hair was a greasy brown and his face unshaven. He had my long face and sharp jawline. His eyes where dim grey, ill and sunken in his skull. They met mine as I opened the door. He ceased his singing and grinned at me with crooked teeth, rolling off the couch and hitting the ground while waving an empty bottle of Chevas.

_… Just a deck of cards… and a jug of wine… _

“My dear, my dear! Since when where you home? Come and sit with me! Have a drink!”

_… And a woman’s lies… makes a life like mine…_

I stamped over, kicking over empties as I went. I swiped the empty bottle from his hand.

“There’s none left, you drunk bastard!” I yelled, firing the bottle at the closest wall. We both watched as it shattered and the shards joined the other specks of broken glass that littered the carpet. “You finished the last bottle in the house.”

He starred at me and mumbled some pathetic apology before flopping onto the floor like a dead man.

“I’m sorry dear… I truly didn’t know… you hate me, don’t you? Don’t lie to me. I can take it. You hate me because I’m an awful father.”

“I hate you because you’re a hack writer.”

After a beat, he began to cackle hysterically. I despised the sound. It reminded me of my own laugh.

“Y-you and your mother…” he breathed through his laughter.

“Enough! Did you see anything strange happening near the house today?”

He recovered from his laughing fit slowly. “What do you mean?”

“Of course, you won’t have noticed anything. The goddamn place could be burning down around you and you'd be none the wiser.”

“Now, now-“

“Some manic has carved what can be only described as a death threat into the surface of our front door.”

“What does it say?”

“You can see for yourself tomorrow. I want you to go to the hardware store in the morning and ask Greg if he can patch it up, or if it needs replaced.”

“My dear,” he stuttered. He grabbed onto the arm of the couch and pulled himself up to his feet. He was only a few inches taller than me, even though I had taken my boots off. “Is this about that Diamond girl?”

“It doesn’t concern you,” I sneered.

“I warned you Peri, warned you all I could. It was foolish to take that story…”

“What the fuck do you know? You’re a morally bankrupt, middle-aged drunkard. You sold your soul for spare change and now you live off me like a leech. This story is far from you and your bygone advice would be better fitted to a stand-up routine.”

I turned to leave his stench and his insistent mumbling. I told him to get the fucking door fixed before I stepped out of the room. Before I could leave, he called to me.

“They will ruin you, like they ruined me.”

“You ruined yourself, dad,” I said over my shoulder. I slammed the door behind me.

With no alcohol to tide me, I resigned to sleep. Entering my bedroom, I inhaled deeply. The air was sweet with an Autumn Leaves fragrance. I would light a candle at the beginning of each day. It purged the stench of my father’s room and eased my mind. I threw off my skirt, then my shirt, and then my tights. Once they got the floor I cursed my untidiness but I wasn’t in the mood to rectify it. I turned off the light and blew out the candle, jumping into bed after placing my glasses on the bedside table. I curled up and clutched the covers. My thoughts were a dull buzz, as if thousands of quiet voices were vying for my attention until it was all static.

Who in the hell does that deadbeat think he is? He’d be frozen stiff on the sidewalk if it weren’t for me. Cause of death: hypothermia. Yet he patronises me as if I would ever heed the wisdom of a washed up writer with a name worth nothing.

I’ve learned enough from him, in the way any human learns from any other human's failure. I have no affection for him. I keep him around as a reminder of all the things I hate about myself. The face that served as a mould for my own.

I squeezed my eyes so tight I might never open them again.

Then my phone rang.

The illuminated screen blared like a beacon and I winced as I opened my eyes to it. I picked it up and vaguely recognised the number. I must’ve forgotten to save it last time we spoke.

“Lapis?” 

“Uh, hey.”

A substantial period of silence. I checked the time. 11:34pm.

“How are you?” I asked.

“Not so bad,” she replied.

“…”

“…”

“Not to sound rude, but why have you called?” I asked.

“Oh, right. I didn’t wake you, did I? You sound like me.”

I chuckled. “No, not really.”

“So, I kinda did?”

“Well, I’m currently under the covers.”

“Yeah, this was stupid of me,” she muttered. “I’ll go ahead and hang up now.”

“Wait. Maybe you could ask me whatever it is you called to ask- “

“Then we can both agree it’s stupid?”

“Exactly.”

She sighed, and I sat up in bed in anticipation. I was hoping some light would be shed on the subject of my door.

“You want to hang out for an hour or something?”

I hadn’t been expecting that.

“Uh, isn’t it quite late?”

“If you’re under twelve, I guess.”

“Wow.”

“It’s just, ah, I can’t really sleep. I feel like I’ve awake for a year but when I close my eyes, that’s all I do. Just lie there with my eyes closed, trying to sleep. Trying not to think.”

“One of those nights,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“To be honest, I’ve got a feeling tonight will be the same for me.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

I considered the sheer lunacy of leaping out of a warm bed, half drunk at nearly midnight on a Thursday, throwing on some clothes, and sprinting out into the night like a pair of idiot schoolgirls running from the hateful process of aging. Then I remember that both Lapis’ and I have already done that, so then it didn’t seem so mad.

“What do you have in mind? Rampage through the town until we collapse from exhaustion?”

“I can’t see you rampaging through anything. Ever.”

“I resent the implication.”

“Yeah, when you use phrases like that…”

“Okay, I get the picture. Are we going to actually do something or just gossip over the phone all night like kids?”

“Alright, okay. I’m thinking that we make a little trip to McDonald’s, grab a few cans of beer, then find a bench near the beach and chill for a while.”

“It’s bloody freezing outside!”

She sucked her teeth. “Don’t you have that coat I gave you?”

I blushed. “Yes.”

“Well then it’s settled. How far are you from Grace Street?”

“I’d say a five-minute walk.”

“Ok. I’ll pick you up by the liquor store on Grace Street, and we’ll hit up McDonald’s after.”

“Pick me up?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve got a car.”

“But you’re buying beer?”

“It’s only drunk driving if you’re drunk. A few cans is nothing. For me, anyways.”

“Christ, this’ll be my last night on Earth,” I said, although I was grinning to myself.

“If you’re lucky,” she replied. By the tone of her voice, I imagined she was grinning too. “See ya in five?”

“Sure.”

She hung up.

So, I rolled out of bed, caught up in an indescribable emotion and half-delirious. I pulled a long sleeved white shirt over myself, followed by a thick hoodie coloured like early spring leaves and as worn as a forest trail. Then sweatpants and sneakers. I was dressed like a hoodlum, but I knew Lapis’ wouldn’t mind, so I didn’t really care. I grabbed my Autumn Leaves candle and Lapis’ coat before heading downstairs.

The five-minute walk to Grace Street was tough. A warning carved into my door, intended to scare me away from the very woman I was now going to meet in the hanged hours of the night. I walked under the streetlights, with my hood thrown up and the coat buttoned and the collar up. I swung my sight over each shoulder at the intervals where my anxiety got the better of me. Couldn’t she have picked me up? I suppose Beach City isn’t renowned for street violence… but still.

It wasn’t even five minutes, rather four and a half, but I still spotted a blue-haired woman wearing the exact red flannel, black sweatpants, and brown borg jacket that she was wearing this morning. She had a cigarette in her mouth and, alarmingly, was placing a cardboard box with a familiar red appearance in her back seat. A twenty-can box of Budweiser.

“You aren’t serious.”

She looked up after clicking a seat belt over the box.

“Huh? Oh, you look different without that high-class style thing going on.”

“You look the exact same,” I said.

“Thanks.”

“My memory is pretty keen…”

“What?”

“…and I remember you mentioning ‘a few cans.’”

“Oh, well.” She paused for a moment. “‘A few’ is one of those phrases that’s at the mercy of whoever’s using it. Like, ‘see you later.’”

“That’s a pretty abstract excuse for alcoholism.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, Whiskey Thief.”

My cheeks began to heat and I breathed into my hand to get a sense of the smell. I heard Lapis snort as she threw down her cigarette and stubbed it out with the toe of her boot.

“No judgements here,” she said. “Now, let’s hit the road. I’m starving.”

It’s hard to beat the sensation of heat blasting through a car dashboard on a cold night. The sensation of drinking a cold beer at 12 a.m. comes as a close second. After a few minutes in the local McDonald’s drive thru, Lapis had her two plain double cheeseburgers, large fries, and a McFlurry. I asked for Southwest Salad with grilled chicken, which Lapis paid for, after claiming that she offered to take us, and that me paying was a “fucking impossibility.” We had made some idle chat as we approached the beach, but there was an aura of calm between us where incessant small talk didn’t seem necessary. It was pleasant to exist with her with no subtext of a story for a paper or nasty rumour. 

We parked by the sand-coated marble steps that led to the beach. Lapis pulled up the handbrake and we got out. It wasn’t as cold as it could have been, which I appreciated. The wind was almost completely dead. I grabbed the box of beer which was now two cans lighter and we descended the steps.

Stars ruptured the sky in a manner I don’t think ever seen and the ocean was like black glass. For a moment, I had a vicious urge to cry which I couldn’t understand. I took off my glasses and stashed them in my breast pocket.

It was a night that seemed to hold a little remnant of every other sleepless wanderer that had stopped to admire it. The teenage couples sharing cigarettes, the manic poets drunk on cheap wine while sniffing the magnolia air and singing to the stars, and the train-hopping drifters searching for a lullaby in the sound of swaying leaves. It was the kind of night where you felt a warm camaraderie with people you've never known, and never will. 

I tried to picture how Lapis and I could fit into the scene, but rather than over-complicate the feeling, I decided it would be better to enjoy it.

“Over here,” she called, standing by a solitary picnic table nestled at the edge of the beach where the sand faded into grass and the trodden forest began. The trees seemed colossal tonight. Lapis sat on the bench at the table and brought her legs up, crossing them. I approached and set the beer on the table beside our food. I placed myself opposite her but I sat normally. She looked at me and her eyes widened.

“Woah.”

“What?” I asked, somewhat embarrassed.

“Behind those glasses, you have crazy nice eyes. They’re so green,” she said, pulling out her cigarette carton and grabbing one with her lips before lighting it, as if that complement was a casual remark, which it was. The problem was that my brain didn’t process it that way.

“Can you pass me my salad,” I asked with barely an ounce of volume. “Thanks, by the way.”

“No prob, Bob”

I nibbled my meal, pausing for sips of beer, while Lapis wolfed two cheeseburgers and I envied her carelessness. Once we finished the food, I lifted the wrappers and the seven empty cans and carried it to a small wooden trash can placed a few feet away from the picnic table. When I walked back Lapis had moved to sit on the table itself with her legs crossed. She had lit another cigarette.

I assumed that it would be awkward if I joined her on top of the table. It seemed very intimate. Wasn’t this entire night? Why was that?

Deciding that the more awkward action would not be joining her I did. I mimicked her pose and followed her gaze to the sky

“It’s a beautiful night,” I said.

“Yeah,” she replied quietly. “It almost feels like you have to travel a little farther out each year to get away from the streetlight glow.”

“Do you do this often?”

“What? Get drunk? Stargaze?”

“Get drunk and stargaze.”

“From time to time. If I did it every week it would just get dull like everything else gets dull. You should pace yourself with these moments. That’s what people get wrong.”

“Do you usually bring someone along?”

“Not usually.”

“How honoured I am.”

“Ha ha.”

“It’s nice, though,” I said. “Getting to know each other for real. Off the books, you know?”

“What do you mean ‘off the books’? It’s not like you have power over what affects your story. Just ‘cause you aren’t noting down every word I say doesn’t mean you are filing it away, making little judgements.”

I stopped smiling, feeling slightly wounded. “Do you really trust me that little?”

She turned to me and our faces met. Her fading blue hair was flickering from the light wind and her eyes were deep. I could never look at her like this without noting how pretty she is, in a very specific, enigmatic way. If I were sober, she wouldn’t draw my attention just like she is now. The closeness of our faces and the heat from her body.

“I don’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to be an asshole, unbelievably. I like you, if that’s any consolation.” She turned back to the sky. “I wouldn’t have dragged you out here otherwise.”

“Oh.” I grinned smugly, trying to be charismatic or something. “That is quite the consolation.”

She snorted. “Nice job. I regret saying anything now.”

The next hour passed with a subdued ecstasy. I was hazy from the beers and the company. Lapis was a pleasant drunk. My attempted humour was degrading rapidly, but she was laughing more and more. I was at ease, but just for that hour, until my throat was getting tight again and swallowing wasn’t helping. She must have noticed my silence.

“Hey... you alright?”

“Yes, of course.” My voice sounded brittle. I exhaled deeply. “I just… I’m coming to realise little I’ve really experienced in my life. It sounds melodramatic, but I’ve never done anything like this. Something as simple as getting drunk on a beach with a friend? Never. All that romantic, T.V. nonsense. Twenty-six years old and all the fun is already gone. I grew up too fast. I’ve never even been in a relationship before. Wasted time and money on a degree that’s trapped me in a nowhere town as a two-bit journalist.

“I can’t even tell if I’m doing this story for your sake or my own. I could well be chasing the big break that gets me noticed, maybe earns me some fulfilment. I’m selfish. I’m hollow. Above all I’m bored. Going through the motions. A high functioning alcoholic with no spirit left.”

I stopped myself before I lost my composure entirely. Lapis must thing I’m insane. Pathetic. Pouring my heart out, drunk. I can feel the pity with such intensity I can’t even turn to look at her.

She threw her left arm around my shoulder and held me sort of tight. I fit into her side nicely and blinked back a few tears as I leaned my head onto hers.

“Would it be condescending to say that’s the alcohol speaking?”

I laughed loud enough that I felt embarrassed for myself.

“Yes.”

I looked at her and she smiled, seemingly pleased with my improvement in mood.

“Listen,” she said, “It might seem insincere, but I get you, Entirely. I’ve already told you how a feel about my younger years. It’s shitty to think about everything you’ve missed and even shittier to think about how simple it would have been to make better decisions. The thing is though, it doesn’t change tonight. It doesn’t change all the moments still to come. Twenty-six, for Christ’s sake. You’re clever, kind, and I doubt this hellhole will hold you if you really want to move on.

“Fuck all those Polaroid moments on T.V. That’s all bullshit. In life, the depressing moments will always outweigh the happy ones.”

I laughed again despite myself. “Wow. How inspiring- “

“Let me finish,” she said with a grin. “It’s kinda what I said earlier. Pick the little moments and revere them. Fuckin’ worship them, ‘cause in the day-to-day those little moments are the only things worth a damn. As far as the story goes, I don’t believe you’re selfish. I don’t believe that you believe that either.”

She stubbed out her cigarette. “I have to say, I’m unhappy as fuck here. This situation? It’s the worst possible outcome of events. But tonight… well, I’ve enjoyed tonight. This little moment has meant a lot to me.”

She had said that quietly, and she looked a little shaken, so I brought my right arm around her lower back and squeezed a little.

“I’m happy to hear that,” I said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peridot's dad is listening to an old country song. It's relevant for the story, and also inspired by the scene of Peri listening to country music to cope with Lapis moving to the Moon. She's an old soul...


	6. UPDATE 27/03/20

Hello friends. I hope everyone is safe and doing well.

First order of business; the story IS continuing! I realise it has been some amount of months since the last update (it's always the case with me) as between moving house, university work, and various personal matters, I haven't been able to write nearly as much. HOWEVER, the next chapter should be out within the next few days. Hurrah! Thank you all for your support every chapter. We hit seventy kudos since last chapter which is insane. I love you all and I hope not to disappoint.

Although, I feel as if a small update is necessary, as a few things must be addressed.

Most importantly, I hope that everyone is healthy and safe in light of the pandemic. This is a pretty unprecedented situation. It's chaotic and frighting, and we fear for the people we love and the stability of our planet. Isolation brings many trials and tribulations, especially for those of us with mental and/or physical illnesses. Stay calm and collected friends, composure is key, and if you need someone to speak to about anything, I'll attach my Tumblr, or contact me through Ao3. Every small thing helps. Be kind and considerate to one another.

Next, there is the Lapidot elephant in the room, in regards to the recent Twitter revelation that Peridot was written to be the Ace/Aro representation of the show.

Obviously, the creates an awkward situation for a fanfic that has been written before the reveal.

The last thing that I'm sure any writer for this wonderful fandom would intend to do is cause harm or suffering for anyone Ace/Aro, or regress the representation the character provides by writing her in a different manner. I wish to exclaim this, although I will not be re-writting my portrayal of the character.

I have decided this, as part of the appeal of fanfic writing is the ability to take poetic licence with our favourite characters, to explore and experiment, especially with what I see as a sadly undeveloped aspect of the show (Lapis' and Peridot's relationship.) My fic exists with a separate identity, as a separate reality to the show's cannon. Also considering that this information was not revealed through the show, but through Twitter, and seems to clash with our perceptions of what fusion means within SU, I feel as if we shouldn't be too stringent. 

That being said, if anyone believes I'm full of shit here, that I'm acting irresponsible, please don't be afraid to respond here so I can understand better.

With future fics, I will most likely explore this new information and help create a more inclusive legacy for the character as the show comes to a close, if as a community we believe that is the best option.

And that brings us to the last point. The end of Steven Universe.

The show has had a personal and explosive impact on the past few years of my life. It will stand the test of time as a powerful example of authentic passion and humanity and representation in contempary animation. I wish the best for the crew, and I'm profoundly grateful for the work of Rebecca Sugar and friends, the animators and the voice actors and of course, all you fantastic people; us fans.

Steven Universe Future has bested all prior seasons from my view, as it has tackled a great deal of issues that are painfully revenant to me as time drags me to adulthood.

Couped up here, with the final episode on the horizon, fills me with a great deal of sorrow. Again, I would love to speak to anyone feeling similar, or if any of you wish to speak with me, I would be happy.

My final plea would be to the Ao3 community to do what we can to help the show's legacy persevere through our writing, and that we remain close and supportive as we always have.

I'm gonna stop rambling now, but once more, stay safe and well and don't be afraid to get in touch. The next chapter is on its way!

Much love and enjoy the finale... through tears probably, but enjoy. 

Tumblr: https://kharaden.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, folks.


End file.
